


Running From Destiny

by Asharion



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Action, Adventure, Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Join the Light Side, Join the dark side, Political Intrigue, Romance, Sith, War, Which has better cookies?, tempation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-02-22 07:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13161765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asharion/pseuds/Asharion
Summary: "I do not like it," the holographic figure stated, and moved to cross his arms over his chest. "Where Jedi go, there can only be trouble afoot. Amara, cancel. Your obligations do not include this.""Father, it's a dance," his daughter replied with an exasperated sigh. "It only makes sense that there will be figures from all departments of the government; the Jedi Order is a fundamental part of it, and the public has been pushing for them to attend more friendly social events. I am attending; I could make us some very good connections.""Yes, well, be that as it may, trouble followsthem."---A young woman sets out to better her family's business , and ends up caught in the middle of a deadly trade dispute. Desired by multiple parties for her potential, Amara seeks to find her own path, wanting only to return to home and the comfortable life she had been raised in.She finds unexpected allies, Obi Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, but are they really looking out for her best interests, or looking to serve their own mission?Aims to update weekly or bi-weekly.





	1. Don't worry, it'll be fiiiine

**Author's Note:**

> This story should be considered totally AU. Think of it as taking my favorite characters and certain events from the movies, and tossing it into a new stage and script.
> 
> If you find an error in lore I’d love to know, but otherwise enjoy it for what it is ;D
> 
> There will be political intrigue, life-threatening action, daring adventures, adorable fluff, and, of course, romance… eventually.
> 
> Note: Anakin is 19 and still a Padawan in the start of this AU, and has not yet reunited with his friend Padme. He has not yet killed Count Doku or had nightmares of his mother and experienced the events that followed them.
> 
> I intend this story to be in the 60k+ word-count range, dependant on where plot takes things and if people are interested in seeing it continue.
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> ~Asharion
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, this literature is intended for non-profit recreational fun.

"You're certain you want to do this?" A man's voice was rendered scratchy and broken up by the poor reception signal of the holo transmitter. The translucent blue projection stood with arms clasped firmly behind a broad back and sagging shoulders that had once been the picture of strength and youth. He wore fine robes with fashionable but minimalistic embroidery, and sported a long beard that hung from a drooping frown.

"Yes, father," the woman holding the handheld holo replied, sighing. Quartz crystals dripped from rounded ears, and matched the sequined and glittered blue dress she wore. "The shuttle will be landing in five minutes."

"Actually, Miss, we will arrive in precisely three minutes and forty-two seconds," came the robotic voice of an overly helpful protocol droid. The woman spared it a glance and the polished-silver droid took her expression for dismissal, hobbling back out of the bedroom with murmured farewell.

"I do not like it," the holographic figure stated, and moved to cross his arms over his chest. "Where Jedi go, there can only be trouble afoot. Amara, cancel. Your obligations do not include this"

"Father, it is a dance," his daughter replied with an exasperated sigh. "It only makes sense that there will be figures from all departments of the government; the Jedi Order is a fundamental part of it, and the public has been pushing for them to attend more friendly social events. I am attending; I could make us some very good connections."

"Yes, well, be that as it may, trouble follows _them,"_ he said brusquely, then made a noise suspiciously close to a snort. Amara allowed herself a wan smile. He disdained such gestures with great passion. That he had let it slip spoke of his agitation.

"Well, if on the slim chance something's up, it'll be good the Jedi are there to handle it, won't it?" she reasoned, smile widening.

"Come home." The suddenly authoritative voice made the color drain from the young woman's face.

"I'll see you next week, father," Amara said flatly. Her smile had dropped, and she closed the flip-lid of her holo compact closed. The soft snick noise lent a sense of finality to the gesture, and she shook her head.

Muddy blue eyes looked outside the window as towering trees and luxurious swaths of forest came into view as they dove below the cloying mists that lingered from a recent rain storm. It was just nearing the end of the monsoon season on the planet of Naboo, and Amara was looking forward to a fruitful stay here.

Her father did not hold any strong political sway, nor did he command an impressive swath of territory in the mercantile markets, but he was making progress. Their business was small, only operated by a collection of local employees and working out of a rented warehouse, but her father's co-owner was a genius in the making.

Amara smiled as she thought back on a fond memory of Andrian Torf bickering with her father over color schemes, aesthetics, and textures. Her father was smart and had experience as a mechanic, but he was not particularly gifted with ingenuity. Andrian, however, was an inventor. He lacked any claim to a finished formal education, and was, all things considered, a terrible businessman. He just didn't have the knack for it.

Together, though, the two men made a good team; Amara wanted to see their plans succeed. Offering quality transportation vehicles at a fraction of the current market cost for - as Andrian put it - “refurbished junkyard crap” was their goal. True, it was a niche market, really dedicated for helping the impoverished areas of society such as the southernmost regions on her homeplanet, Tar'kme, but intergalactical trade was not the two mens' goal.

Amara was jolted out of her musings when the ship shuddered and rocked forward harshly before jarring to a sudden halt. _'Damn that half-witted pilot,'_ she thought ungraciously, irritated. He was a fine hand in space, but his landings were sloppy.

The sudden pang of longing and bitterness hit faster than she could stop it, as the protocol droid wandered in to notify her of their arrival.

_'If only he would teach me to fly, I wouldn't be so careless as this oaf,'_ she thought wistfully. But no, such things were not deemed lady-like nor dignified by her conservative father. That he had allowed her the use of a slow-speed cruiser during her schooling years was impressive.

"Oh, it's colder than I thought it would be," Amara murmured as she stepped out of her small one-room apartment that had been her retreat during the three day flight. The protocol droid, P-32, was busy discussing particulars of ship docking over an intercom while the pilot could be heard jabbering in the cockpit, cut off from her view by a door.

The shuttle they were in was quite small, but it used its space efficiently and was of good quality, furnished with simple taste and aesthetic. Amara moved through the common area with fluid grace, and stopped just short of pressing the control switch to open the door on the side of the ship.

Though she truly believed her father was a paranoid conspirist, she was reluctant to admit that she wasn't so confident herself. Odd rumors had been floating about recently; whispers of terrorists and a stir in the black market trades, of a large merchant company displeased at being found out as having illicit dealings.

She told herself that her sense of unease was just pre-party jitters, and a lack of self confidence. Once she found her niche in with the right people at the guildmaster's gala, things would be smoother for her. Introductions were always the hardest part, and they would come to pass. She held firmly to that belief.

"Their hanger is full," her pilot announced as the young man stepped out from the cockpit, rubbing a sleepy-looking eye. She could just make out the snores of his co-pilot, now that the door was open. "They've requested I dock us over in public space. We won't be far off, _Milady."_ This last word was spoken with a cock-eyed smirk and a mocking tone that set Amara's nerves on edge.

She hated when he teased her. He came from a well-off family, and while that alone did not make her dislike him, Farmin liked to constantly remind her of their difference in class.

It was petty, and she knew she ought to just ignore it, but still... Sometimes, the words managed to get under her skin. Just a little bit.

"Just Amara will do," she reminded with a dismissive wave of a pale hand, turning away from him to hit the switch to open the shuttle's door. As the wave of fresh air and dizzying aroma of greenery and flowers reached her, she had to restrain the urge to sneeze. "Try not to get into trouble and embarrass yourselves, and me?" she asked lightly, casting him a glance.

He snorted, unaffected, and shoved both hands into deep pockets on his black pilot's suit.

"Tch. Good thing I'm not your escourt, then - less chance of humiliation." He paused, then, and for a moment lost the cocky grin. Amara was half-way through the archway, and paused at the suddenly serious expression Farmin now wore. "...for real, though. Take care, alright? I know it's your first... big event," he said with a shrug, glancing away. "Make your old man proud."

Amara blinked, stunned, then shook herself out of it and offered him a more genuine smile. Inclining her head, she turned and left.


	2. Belle of the Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party is off with a blast, and Amara finds conversation with an unlikely guest; things start to get interesting.

Amara had thought fancy galas and parties were supposed to be full of colorful dresses, bizarre horderves, and a simple matter of separating snippy gossip from real intellectual conversationalists.

She wasn't wrong about the colorful dresses, but she hadn't been informed it was a themed party, and no one seemed to want to speak with her past initial introductions. When they didn't recognize the company name she represented, interest would spark in their eyes, and she would catch hope.

Once she went on to explain how she came from a local-based company in the outer-rim territory that had just started two years prior, conversation was deftly cut off and they moved along, dismissing her.

 _'Alright, I'll admit it,'_ she thought bitterly, standing off to the side of the large crowd with a small plate of edibles, _'I am definitely not business representative or politician material. I can't even carry on small talk.'_

She had thought it was going to be more or less easy, and now regretted her optimism. Listening to conversations, she acknowledged that the people she was surrounded by were far more experienced with the tool of language. They used it like it was the most natural thing in the world to trap an opponent with their own words, or lure them into admitting information they had not intended to disclose - or, worse, withhold an answer and be painted with suspicion.

Quite at a loss for what to do, she took a seat at a long bench tucked between two gigantic windows and potted plants. She needed a strategy, but without even an idea of who she ought to be strategizing for a meeting with, Amara felt at a total loss.

Was no one here simply interested in even passing conversation? If she couldn't do business, she was at the very least determined to enjoy herself.

A hearty sigh ended with a sharp gasp as someone stepped fully into her vision, blocking her view and at the same time, making her realize she'd been looking off into space, not paying attention to her surroundings.

She blinked at the brown leather belt level with her eyes, then hastily averted her gaze upwards, and froze, too stunned to speak.

Brilliantly blue eyes looked down at her, topped by dark brows and set into a youthful face of a tall man with cropped, medium brown hair. It neatly framed a defined jawline and firm lips, currently pressed into a polite smile.

What had made her freeze, though, was what he was wearing. Only one group of people she knew of wore that style of layered wrap-shirts, vest, and voluminous hooded robe.

"I'm sorry, did I startle you?" the man asked in an unexpectedly boyish voice at odds with his apparent age. It was almost charming, and a little gravelly. It lacked the deep timbre like her father and many other men she had spoken to this evening had, and she found that somehow refreshing.

Realizing she hadn't answered yet, Amara rose to her feet, face heating up.

"Oh, no, of course not - I was just... Lost in thought. I apologize. My name is Amara, and you?"

He seemed to consider her answer for a moment, before replying, tucking his hands into the deep sleeves of his robes.

"I am Anakin Skywalker, I'm here with my mentor, Obi Wan. You don't look like you are from around here," he said, offering a curious quirk of a brow.

Amara felt her cheeks turn pink as she shrugged, feeling awkward. She'd certainly wished for conversation, but somehow, she didn't think chatting with a Jedi would please her father. He was a Jedi... right? Would it be rude to ask?

Anakin didn't seem like the kooky madman she'd been told they were apt to be. All things considered, he looked… normal. Almost boringly so. She had always imagined a Jedi would be a little more mysterious and aloof.

"This is actually my first time visiting Naboo," she admitted, glad she had her plate of food to hold onto, to give her hands something to do. "I'm from Tar'kme, in the outer rim."

His eyebrows shot up, and her throat suddenly felt constricted. The smile on her face grew forced as she awaited the too-polite exit of conversation. Maybe she ought to stop saying where she came from.

Instead, he surprised her by taking a seat on the bench and gesturing her to sit back down, a look of keen interest on his face.

"Really? I've heard of it, but i've never been there myself."

Amara was sitting before she'd even realized she'd moved, and found herself smiling broadly. Relief had never felt so welcome, like a weight off her shoulders.

"There's not much to visit, being that it's mostly arid grassland and rocky terrain, but some places are worth the trip to see. Where do you come from?" she inquired, fingering a chocolate truffle.

His smile faded a moment, before he shrugged and looked away. Amara inwardly cringed. _'I must not be the only one from a planet undesired.'_

"I live in Coruscant now, though my Master likes to joke our home is actually our ship," he mused dryly, glancing at her to see her reaction.

Amara giggled, and quickly smothered the sound behind a hand. Anakin's grin returned.

"Where do you live on Coruscant?" Amara nudged, anticipating his answer. His grin turned into a small smirk.

"Oh, somewhere in the city. I bet you can probably guess."

Amara snorted. "The whole planet is a city," she pointed out. He shrugged, eyes dancing with amusement. She arched a brow. "You're a Jedi, are you not?"

He nodded, and for the first time, Amara noticed that he had a long, thin braid hanging from behind his right ear. Forgetting herself, she reached out to point at it, before quickly dropping her hand.

"What's with the braid?" she questioned, as his gaze lifted from her hand to her face. He reached up himself to touch it, and calloused fingers dragged it from behind his back to drape over the front of his shoulder.

"It's my padawan braid. When I pass the Jedi trials, they'll cut it and make me a true Jedi Knight. Master Obi Wan says that I am nearly ready," he confided, though Amara thought she saw a sense of uncertainty in his eyes.

"Yes," a new voice interrupted, making both Anakin and Amara turn their heads. "He would be ready sooner, if he stopped dawdling about." The man was about Anakin's height, but Amara thought maybe he was a touch shorter. Light brown hair, nearly blonde, was cropped much like Anakin's, but was left to grow longer up top and gave him a more roguish appearance. Like his apprentice, he had blue eyes, and Amara did not have to wait long to learn her assumption of his identity was true.

The Jedi stopped before her and offered a polite, partial bow, looking between she and Anakin with interest.

"I am Obi Wan Kenobi, I see you have already met my young Padawan. Who might you be, Milady?"

Amara stood as he introduced himself, for Obi Wan had not moved to sit beside them, and she felt awkward looking up at him.

"I am Amara, please; just my name shall do."

"Amara...?" he prompted, raising a brow.

She hesitated, then reluctantly answered, "...Amara Kriffhoth."

Anakin did not quite manage to hold back a snort, and Obi Wan's mouth twitched.

After a prolonged moment of silence from both men, clearly not trusting themselves to speak just yet, Amara huffed and crossed her arms tightly over her chest as her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

"Oh, go on; laugh. It's a funny name and worth the humor."

"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect it, is all," Anakin said, standing up and offering her a pat on the shoulder that was just barely consolatory for his wide grin.

"Yes, well..." Obi Wan coughed into his hand, but it didn't fool her. She smiled at her own expense, and picked up the truffle she'd been toying with and plopped it in her mouth. "...I do appreciate your time, Amara, but I'm afraid my Padawan and I must be going. We've other business to attend to."

"Wait," she said. Both men looked at her, though Obi Wan looked decidedly impatient. Amara hesitated, then shrugged, looking away. "...I am glad I got to meet you. It is nice to see ill rumors shown as false," she murmured.

"Ill rumors shown as false?" Obi Wan asked as the same time Anakin furrowed his brows, and asked a similar question.

"Oh, er, my father - " she stopped, realizing it would look bad to reveal her father's negative opinions. But it was already too late, and Anakin's gaze was boring into the side of her head with such intensity she thought he might burn a hole in it. Face red, she finished her sentence with as much dignity as she could muster. "...had been informed so as to believe that Jedi were... Less civil," she ended tactfully. "I'm pleased to have found a good impression."

Anakin's eyes danced with sudden amusement, and Amara warily waited for what was sure to be a clever one-liner, but it never got the chance to be voiced.

Padawan and Master turned at the same time just before a loud explosion at the opposite end of the hall drowned out the party's music.

There was a split moment of silence, broken only by the rustle of fabric and the band's music jarring to a halt. Then people started screaming, and Amara heard the hum-like _vrwoom_ of two lightsabers bursting to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I learned something new: I always thought 'Ordurves' was how you spelled the fancy name for appetizers... guess it's actually horderves, or H'orderves.
> 
> The more you know!


	3. Meet Me Under the Balcony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to escape, Amara encounters someone else in need of aid.

Amara still didn't have a clue what was happening beyond that the guild hall was being attacked by droids, but she did know exactly where she was in it all. Her attempt to escape the area into the surrounding woods had been foiled once she got outside the building.

Between a tank and a hard place, said place being a thick stone wall at her back. The disc-based hovercraft was, fortunately, not focused on her, but rather on slowly aiming it's large-nozzled cannon at an upper balcony from within the large courtyard. The guild hall was shaped in a rough _C_ shape, formed of a main building and two wings that framed the spacious gardens and walks, and had a lovely view of a glittering lake at the open end of the _C._

Which, evidently, was exactly where the droid army had entered from.

Someone screamed nearby, and Amara involuntarily flinched when the sound was abruptly cut off. She swallowed thickly, mind whirling.

The young woman swore she could hear her father's voice chanting _'I told you so,'_ in her head as she looked about for a likely escape. She was partially hidden from view by two large pillars supporting the balcony above her head, but it seemed the only way out led right into the courtyard, and that was the last place she wanted to be.

The hovering tank suddenly emitted a thudding noise and a loud klack, right before it was forced backwards a good few feet by the force of its thundering cannon fire.

Amara's eyes were wide as she heard, rather than saw, the sound of stone and mortar being blasted apart.

"Keep blasting at the upper story," a droid's electronic, halting voice ordered. "The library’s archives are located below there," it intoned.

_'Archives? Is that what they're after?'_ Amara wondered.

She was forced out of her stalemate when a loud boom sounded behind and above her from inside the building, and she couldn't stop herself from a short, shrill shriek of alarm as the upper balcony exploded downwards. Miraculously, none of the rubble had landed on her, but she could hear the sounds of droids coming her direction, their metal feet clacking and clunking against the cobbled ground.

One look at a charred corpse lying in an unnatural pose of twisted limbs, and Amara's feet were sent into action. She vaulted over the rubble, not caring when her fluttery skirt rode up past her knees. The first droid came into view just as she neared the corner, and Amara let out a terrified shriek as she ducked out of the way of blaster fire.

"There's one over here!" the droid announced, clanking and clacking loudly as it jogged towards the large slab of concrete Amara had ducked behind. She cast about for a likely weapon, but the best she could do was a palm-sized rock.

Waiting with baited breath, adrenaline pumping through her veins, Amara licked her lips, crouched and ready.

The instant the droid's needle-like head came into view, she hurled the rock with all her might and an angry cry, and watched, dumbfounded, as it hit the droid square in the chest and sent it toppling over.

The metal torso was dented, but not broken, and the droid was spasming, trying to speak through garbled warbling of beeps and partial words.

Amara's eyes fell to the black rifle blaster in its metal hands, and she lunged for it with single-minded intensity.

She'd barely raised the rifle when a laser bolt flew right in front of her face and scared her nearly witless, and the young woman scooted back behind the concrete slab, panting.

She had a weapon now, though, and with determination driven more from panic and fear than bravado, Amara scooted forward towards the very edge of her shelter.

It was wasted, though, because the droids simply walked over the rubble pile to look down at her from above. She snapped her head up just in time, and pulled the trigger with a startled gasp.

It was more sheer dumb luck than good aim that brought the first droid toppling sideways and into its companion, but Amara wasn't in a position to turn down charity. Her next shot went wild, but the third nailed the flailing other droid and brought it down.

"Help... Oh, god, help!" a woman moaned from nearby. Amara peeked out over the concrete slab, then ducked down at blaster fire.

_'Please don't need me, please don't need me,'_ she begged, finger tightening on the trigger.

"HELP!"

Amara jumped up from her spot and pulled the trigger as fast as she could, feeling the heat of several lazer bolts as they flew far too close to her person for comfort.

A woman was struggling to pull herself out from underneath fallen debris, and Amara realized she must have fallen with the balcony from before. The side of the stranger's face was bloody and soot-stained, and her leg was caught.

"Hold on!" Amara called, biting her lip before jumping up over the concrete and nearly tripped on her skirt. She hurried over, and knelt beside the woman.

She had to look up from the woman's pawing hands when a laser impacted the ground right next to her, and without thinking she raised her rifle and fired three quick shots. The first one hit, leaving the second and third to go wild and impact the side of the saucer-like tank floating outside.

"Get me out of here," the woman groaned, as Amara's eyes widened when the tank's cannon began to swivel. "Please, help me!" she wailed, clawing at her savior's leg.

Amara felt bile rise in her throat, and looked down at her.

"I-"

The tank's gears grinded to a halt, and the nozzle began to lower. Panic seized, and Amara dropped the rifle.

Her arms hooked underneath the woman's armpits, and Amara hauled backwards with more strength than she knew she had.

"Ow! It hurts, stop, I’m stuck!" the woman shrieked, emitting a choked sob as rough stone scraped away skin on her trapped calf and ankle. Amara heard a sickening snapping noise as the woman's foot came free, and collapsed backwards on the uneven ground, a rock digging right into the muscles of her back.

Her gaze was now staring straight down the barrel of the tank's turret, and the sound of a heavy thud and mechanical klack made her freeze.

Too late.

 

She closed her eyes, but the thundering boom never came. Instead, she heard droid's panicked shouts and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. When she opened her eyes, the nozzle of the tank was significantly shorter and glowing red at it's cut-off end, and the whole vehicle was laying flat on the ground, no longer hovering.

The woman wailing in her arms brought Amara back into focus, and she jumped up to her feet, dragging the stranger with her. She hauled her over the concrete slab that had served as shelter against blaster fire before, and laid her down.

"Hush, hush, be quiet, and they won't know you're here," Amara urged her.

"D-don't leave me!" the woman begged, grabbing at Amara's dress. "Oh god, it hurts," she sobbed, writhing on the ground. Amara grabbed at the woman's wrists before she could accidentally tear the flimsy material right off of her, then yanked sharply.

"Listen to me!" she snapped, and then shook the woman again when she continued to wail. "I can't stay; I have to find you help, and I sure can't carry you the whole way," she reasoned, trying without success to sound calm, and to reassure the panicking woman. Distantly, Amara noted that the lady was dressed in the fine silks and rich dyes of the wealthy class.

"Don't go," the woman begged.

"I'll come back, or someone else will, just stay quiet and you'll be fine," she promised, extricating herself. Before the woman's pitiful begging could make her change her mind, Amara peeked over the concrete. Aside from the blaster fire outside her little alcove, all was clear in the immediate vicinity.

She bolted for her rifle, tripping on her skirt as she bent to retrieve it. When she righted herself and looked up, Amara nearly screamed at the sudden appearance of a stranger in front of her, and raised the rifle up.

But he wasn't a stranger, and he wasn't a threat; Anakin looked down at her with a stony expression, his gaze swiftly sweeping up and down her body once before he turned his back on her, lightsaber held at his side.

"Wait here," he commanded, then darted out into the courtyard with more speed than Amara thought was possible.

She sat there, dumbfounded for a moment, before she scrambled up to her feet and heard the sound of ripping fabric. A glance told her that her skirt hem had snagged on a sharp corner, and she bent down to tear it loose.

Her feet edged her towards the partially standing pillar that still framed her small shelter, but not before the sound of clanking metal caused her to look up into the gaping hole where the balcony had been blown out from above.

She was more than relieved when her aim proved true once again, and the droids one by one tumbled down into the pit as she shot them down.

Another one popped up into her line of vision, but just as Amara pulled the trigger, the swift sweep of a blue lightsaber cut the foe in half. Anakin came into view, and lifted a boot to kick the still-standing legs of the droid down the pit.

"Boy am I glad you're aim is better than these guys, or you might have hit _me,"_ he called to her with an unexpectedly cheery tone, flashing a grin. He turned immediately after to deflect a laser bolt with his saber. Amara had to tear her gaze away with effort, too shocked by the situation to form a coherent reply.

So she didn't speak, just looked out into the courtyard where she could see only part of an epic battle taking place.  The decommissioned tank blocked out most of the view.

Boots crunched with startling lightness behind her, and Amara whipped around.

Anakin caught the muzzle of her rifle in his hand, deftly lifting it up and away from his chest. He was breathing heavily, but hadn't even broken a sweat.

"Don't worry," he promised, nodding at her. "We'll get you both out of here. Obi Wan is opening up a path for a shuttle to land and get everyone we can out. How's your friend?" he asked, briefly glancing over his shoulder towards the sound of the woman's whimpers.

Amara opened her mouth, but nothing came out, and Anakin just shook his head.

"You'll be alright," he said again, and patted her shoulder before he crouched, and leaped - right over her head, and back up onto the partially destroyed balcony.

"Aw, kriff," he said immediately, and before Amara was even over her shock of watching him defy the laws of gravity, he had hopped back down in front of her and grabbed her arm. "We gotta move."

"B-but - the woman - "

"Cover me, I'll carry her," he said, though his expression had turned hard and serious again. Amara swallowed, looking down at the blaster rifle in her hands before nodding, and took a step forward as Anakin rushed over to the injured merchant.

The single step was all it took to break her from her shock-induced trance, and the next thing she knew, she was following at a breakneck run after Anakin's dark-clothed figure through the courtyard. She missed more than she hit, but she nailed the droids when it counted, and they miraculously made it towards the main wing of the guild house unharmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit longer of a chapter this time ;D  
> I might end up uploading everything I have written so far but the last chapter, just to get the story rolling.
> 
> I know how much I hate only getting a little taste of story xP


	4. Rash Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrenaline and panic are great motivators, but don't always lead to the wisest decisions.

By the time they were back behind solid stone walls in a rubble-strewn hall, Amara realized belatedly that a loud explosion she had heard was undoubtedly the rest of the balcony she'd been hiding under being blown up.

"Are you alright?" Anakin asked without looking at her, busy peering around a corner with the now-unconscious lady slung over his shoulder.

"I'm alive," Amara confirmed, stepping up to him, blaster at the ready. "What now?" she asked.

"We need to get--" He ducked back abruptly, and Amara jumped as a laser bolt collided with the opposite side of the archway her companion had been looking through.

"Move," she commanded, stepping forward and into his side. He moved aside without hesitation, and Amara crouched down, taking a deep breath.

She edged forward as close as she dared, then peeked around the corner, and jerked her head back as a droid fired at her from down the hall.

"How many?" Anakin asked, his tone clipped.

Amara swung back out, but this time she did so with her rifle, and missed her shot.

"How many?" Anakin prompted again, an edge to his voice this time. Amara ducked out once more, and this time, her shot hit home.

"None," she breathed, staring at the smoldering mechanic remains before standing. She felt woozy.

"Good job," he said in an almost off-handed tone, and cautiously walked out into the hallway. Just as he did, a whole squadron of droids rounded the corner, and he swore under his breath as he leapt to the other entrance across from them.

 

A storm of blaster fire separated them, and Amara stared at him, stricken.

 

"Get them!" a droid ordered, and the sounds of many feet came running down the hall.

"Amara, wait right there and-- no, wait!"

Amara sprung from her crouch and landed in the middle of the hall at a roll, but her momentum didn't quite make her get the whole way over. For one terrifying, heart-stopping moment, she was stopped at the edge of safety as blaster fire ripped through the air.

It wasn't until after Anakin had nearly dropped the woman he was carrying and grabbed her leg to pull her to safety, that Amara felt able to breath and think again.

"Come on," he urged, hauling her to her feet with one rough hand wrapped around her wrist.

Amara just nodded, and followed after him through the next room.


	5. In the Spotlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin has reached the shuttle safely with his two companions, and thus begins the managing of the aftermath of the battle.

"You're late," Obi Wan informed him as Anakin all but threw himself down into his seat on the shuttle. "I was beginning to worry."

"I'm sorry Master," Anakin said dryly, leaning back and closing his eyes. "But I was held up by mortal peril and saving damsels in distress."

"And a good job you did of it, too," Obi Wan said fondly, turning his gaze from his apprentice to the group of people crowding the fortunately spacious room. Most were unharmed, but there were many who bore sign of injury, or at the very least, rumpled clothes and soot-stained skin. The Jedi Master's fond expression fell into something more serious, and he glanced sideways at his padawan.

"How is she?" he inquired.

"Which one?" the Padawan asked tiredly, opening his eyes to look at him.

"Both."

"The gray-haired woman is Queen Amidala's secretary," Anakin informed him wryly. "She'll live."

"And Amara?" Obi Wan asked quietly. Anakin's expression darkened, and he looked away. He missed the deep frown that grew on the Jedi Master's face at his reaction.

"Still unconscious."

"I'm impressed by her fortitude," Obi Wan said, his tone almost conversational but for it's quiet volume. "She didn't even notice she was hit?"

"No." Anakin's voice was clipped and short. Typical of when the young padawan was at the mercy of unpleasant emotions - or trying to hide other ones.

"It's not your fault she was injured," Obi Wan said, a warning tone entering his voice. "In fact, I dare say she's alive at all due to your timely intervention."

Anakin didn't answer, just stared hard at the floor to his right as his hands balled into fists, then fell limp on his lap. He sighed, and closed his eyes.

"Yes, Master," he agreed quietly.

But the memory wouldn't go away, and was still hauntingly fresh in his mind. He would never get used to it, Anakin decided; the feeling of seeing someone, especially a comrade or friend, injured in battle. In some ways it was easier to ignore the corpses, since they were dead, gone. No longer in pain.

Amara hadn't noticed she'd been hit until they were almost to the shuttle. She'd been grazed by a laser bolt during her passage through the hall, he was certain. Once the adrenaline rush had worn off when they were out of immediate danger, he'd had to talk her through the onset of shock and pain so they could keep moving.

Obi Wan was not the only one impressed by her courage and strength. Anakin just wished he'd been able to prevent her coming to harm while under his watch.

"Well, we'll be to the retreat point soon enough," Obi Wan announced, breaking the silence and Anakin's reverie. "Mind your feelings, Anakin. Do not wallow in the grief, or what-ifs. We have done a lot of good, keep sight of that."

"Yes, Master," Anakin repeated, still staring down at his hands.

Another long silence passed between them before Obi Wan stood, causing Anakin to lift his head with a questioning gaze. The Jedi Master waved him to remain seated, and walked towards the narrow hallway at the back of the main passenger area.

It only took three turns before he had arrived to the wing of bunker rooms, most of which had already been reserved and filled by the wounded and what few doctors they were fortunate to have amongst them. Obi Wan's steps stopped at a particular door, and he frowned, considering it with a contemplative gaze.

He could feel the faintest of pulls, like a feather-light touch against his mind, coaxing him to enter, to seek.

The choice was made for him when the door abruptly opened, and he was face-to-face with a bleary-eyed young woman in a torn dress that must have once been a lovely sight. Her hair was hazelnut brown and wavy, still partially up-done in a simple bun that was now lopsided and nearly fallen apart.

She was naturally pale, he decided. Not someone used to the sun, and there was a distinct softness to her petite form that spoke of a sheltered life, at odds with her eyes. In his experience, people either broke under the weight of such strain, or it built them into more formidable characters. He had a feeling young Amara Kriffhoth was destined for the later.

"Should you be up?" he questioned as greeting, hands tucked into his sleeves.

"Obi Wan?" she asked tiredly, blinking several times. A shadow seemed to hang over her, before she shook herself - literally - as if to dispel it. Slightly more alert eyes narrowed at him, then blinked.

She blinked again and squinted, and for the first time, he suspected that the woman might be injured in more ways than one. Frowning, he lifted a hand to tilt her head back, peering intently at her face when she flinched.

"Can you see me clearly?" he questioned, calm even though alarm bells went off in his head. Loss of sight was something attributed to a head injury, not being grazed by a blaster bolt. She took far too long to answer, and Obi Wan's hand fell to her shoulder. With an expression that broked no arguments, he turned her around, and propelled her at a sedate walk back to the single bunk in the room.

"What happened to your eyes?" he inquired.

"I don't know," she mumbled, sitting down without grace and staring down at bandaged hands in her lap. "I..."

"Wait here. I will bring Doctor Mora in."

"No."

"No?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow from where he stood, already in the doorway. Amara shook her head.

"No, this... Isn't from any of that," she said quietly. "It'll pass."

"What will pass?" He frowned, but curiosity won out, and he stepped away from the door.

"Just happens sometimes," she shrugged, blinking again. "Where's the lady? She alright?" she asked, looking up at him.

"She will live, though I am uncertain at this moment as to the extent of her injuries. Would you like me to look in on her for you?"

Amara offered a wan smile, and shrugged. She was grateful he let her change the topic.

"Sure."

"Do you know who she is?" he questioned, somewhat amused by her casual air. Amara blinked, and shook her head. "She's the Queen's head secretary, though she also serves part-time as an archivist in the merchant guild that was attacked today. She is quite grateful to you for saving her life. That was very noble of you."

He watched intently as the young woman straightened, blinked, then flushed and looked down at her hands. She shrugged.

"It would have been wrong to abandon her," she mumbled.

"Many would have."

"Did the droids get what they wanted?" Amara asked with a pensive frown, scooting back on the bunk so she could lean against the cool metal wall. She felt over warm, though she knew it was just nerves.

Obi Wan shook his head, frowning. "Fortunately not. We assume they were after certain individuals, but we managed to evacuate the majority of the guests and residents in time."

Amara looked up at him, furrowing her brow.

"What about the library archives?" she questioned.

"Library archives?" he repeated, tilting his head ever-so-slightly and going still. Amara grimaced. Her memory of the battle was... fuzzy at parts, which she'd been told was normal with the shock and trauma of the experience, but she knew she wasn't wrong about this.

She could _feel_ the truth and confidence in her memory of it.

"I overheard a droid speaking about them, I had the impression it was their targeted destination."

"If that is so, it does not bode well," Obi Wan said in his calm, even voice as he brought a hand up to his chin. One finger absently brushed his mustache as his gaze lost focus, lost in thought. "I will have to contact the head guild leader and speak to him. I'm not certain what information they would have hoped to find, but perhaps, we might find out. You're certain?" he asked, eyeing her with a peculiarly intense gaze that made Amara feel self-conscious.

She straightened her posture without thinking, tipping up her chin.

"I am certain."

"Good. I will return shortly, remain here."

With that, the Jedi turned and swept out of the room in a flutter of brown robes.


	6. Let's Not and Say We Did

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more insight into how Amara is dealing with things, and she gets to properly meet the woman she helped save the life of. Amara finds herself in a position she'd rather not be in.

After Obi Wan had left, Amara resumed her examination of herself. She poked and prodded at bruises not yet surfaced on her skin, tested the stiffness of various muscles, and flexed all her joints experimentally. Her right leg was almost completely numb, which she was grateful for, though the sensation itself was disconcerting. The ground beneath her bare foot felt oddly distant, as though she weren't actually standing on a solid surface. Her eyesight was clear now, no longer blurring fine details like a camera out of focus.

The burn mark, though, was completely numb. It had been painful, and she wondered how long it would take to heal. Doctor Mora had warned her that moving might become an obstacle as her body began to realize just how damaged it was, and that the strong painkillers could only be utilized for so long before they would cause more problems than solve.

Amara was fine with that, though she didn't look forward to it. She was just glad to be alive, and, even better, still have a leg to walk on.

"Father will be so upset," she murmured, plucking at the dirtied cloth of her once fine dress. The silken material had not fared well through her experience at all. The hem of her skirt was torn and tattered, and smeared in both blood - probably from the Secretary's wounds - and filth from the battle. Her wounds had been cleaned, but she hadn't been allowed a trip to the 'fresher to wash up completely just yet. Doctor Mora insisted that she rest and wait for when they needed to change the bandages, so they did not waste more supplies than necessary.

She missed home, but at the same time, Amara held a small fear of what her return would entail. Her father would be both relieved, angry, and frightened. The thought that her father might refuse to allow her to leave the planet again, maybe even their own small town, was suffocating. She loved to travel, and the few opportunities she’d had for it were precious. Settling down just wasn't what she wanted out of life.

Which brought forth the question: What  _ did _ she want?

Seconds turned into minutes as Amara sat on her cot, idly kicking her good leg and counting the rivets visible on the wall trim to distract herself from more gruesome thoughts. When she lost count, she began quizzing herself on the quality of materials, on what methods and techniques had been used to put together this small metal room of sparse furnishings and minimal aesthetic.

By the time Obi Wan returned with a knock on the door, Amara had discovered there were at least forty seven rivets visible from the cot, and that the room was of acceptable craft if not aesthetic. She gave him permission to enter, and slowly sat up, expectant.

"I'm sorry that took so long," he said with a small bob of his head. "The archivist had much to say. If you're well enough to walk, she'd like to speak to you," he said, eying her peculiarly. Amara thought his expression meant that he didn't want her to go, but she appreciated he was leaving the decision to her.

"I'll go. Where is the shuttle taking us?" she asked, slowly pivoting on the mattress to gently swing her legs down to the floor. She stood slowly, and sighed, testing her weight on the injured leg. The sensation of standing with one foot grounded and the other floating on a cloud was distracting.

"To a safe rendezvous point, we'll be meeting up with some of our allies and getting the wounded to more formal medical facilities."

He hesitated before silently offering her his arm for support, but Amara waved the gesture off, rolling her shoulders and cracking her neck out of habit. The Jedi master just shook his head at her, but with an easy smile led the way out into the hall and down to a different bunk room.

_ 'Must be an officer's cabin,' _ she mused, noting immediately that the room was larger and better furnished, though still sparse. A comfortable looking cot was set in the far back wall of the room with a loft shelf hanging above it. A tall man, presumably a guard, stood in the opposite corner. The cot was, as expected, occupied by the woman Amara had helped saved.

She realized abruptly that she still didn't know the woman's name.

"Come over here, child; I don't bite," the woman said in a tired voice. Her face had been washed of makeup, and her hair was neatly combed and brushed out over the back of the pillows she was propped up against in a comfortable reclined position. Her eyes were a fierce green, framed with short lashes and a decidedly oval face that made her look younger than her delicate and faint wrinkles suggested.

"I would hope not," Amara answered with a wry smile, glancing uncertainly to Obi Wan, who remained in the hallway. He nodded at her, and she entered the room, walking all the way over to the woman's bedside. "My name is Amara, I'm not sure if they mentioned it yet."

"Mmm, they did. Sit, Amara," the woman commanded, patting the edge of her cot. Amara hesitated only a moment before awkwardly sitting down.

The only other person in the room, a stoic-faced man with dark skin and a well tailored uniform, remained silent. He paid them no mind, but something about the way he stood made Amara feel like he was ready to spring into action at any moment.  _ 'Definitely has to be a guard,'  _ she thought.

His eyes flicked towards her at that moment; cold, calculating, and chillingly flat grey in color. Amara snapped her gaze back to her host.

"I am Maria Tawani," she revealed, smiling as only a mother figure could as she laid a hand on Amara's bandaged one. "And I owe you much gratitude. Where are you from?" she inquired.

Reluctantly, Amara answered her.

"I am from the planet Tar'kme, in the Mieru'Kar system. My father's business is the production of affordable transportation for the lower classes."

The long pause of silence that followed was dreadful, and Amara almost got up to leave, remembering all-too vividly her experience at the gala. But the woman only shook her head, and sighed.

"Amazing, I would not have guessed. You are a very long way from home. What brought you to Naboo?"

"I came for the guild events, I was..." she blushed, and shrugged. "I was hoping to make a good impression on my father's business. At the beast, perhaps make some viable connections with a more experienced market-user to help advance his project."

"Investors?" the woman inquired lightly. Amara's skin prickled with goosebumps at Maria’s suddenly keen gaze, and it put her on edge. She didn't want to talk about trading and business politics, she wanted to talk about more immediate things; like why the droids had attacked in the first place, what they were after in the archives, if that really was their goal. To destroy them? To gain access?

There were too many possibilities. Amara realized she still hadn’t answered, and Maria’s eyebrow was slowly raising.

"I suppose,” Amara agreed with a carefully neutral tone, “though it's more a need for support in getting the word out than the finances to produce products. Tek'mar does not have a very good communications network, not even with our neighboring planets. My father's a brilliant marketer, but he doesn't understand how to advertise outside of his own immediate town."

"I see." Maria looked like she was contemplating another question to ask, but Amara swiftly interrupted her before it was voiced.

"Did Obi Wan speak to you about the archives?" she asked quietly. Mari's gaze shifted subtly, eyes hardening, and her warm smile grew thin and terse.

"He did. It is most fortunate you brought us this information."

Amara wiggled uncomfortably on her seat at the secretary's bedside.

"I was in the right place at the right time," she said warily. "How... How is your leg?" she asked, guilt making her stomach clench uncomfortably.

_ 'It's not your fault, Amara,' _ she said in her head, though the guilt didn't abate. _ 'You did what had to be done, when it had to be done. Better an injury than dead.' _ Even as she thought the words, the sickening sound of a snapping bone and Maria’s screams echoed in the back of her mind like a ghost.

"I will heal," Mari said with a deep sigh. "Doctor Mora said I might have to consider an amputation," she said wryly. "I suppose I could invest in the prosthetics industry; the technology for it has come such a long way."

Amara felt suddenly queasy, and fixed Maria with an unintentionally wide-eyed stare.

"A-Amputation?" she repeated, voice an octave higher.

"I jest, child," Maria chidded softly, reaching up to pat her on the head.

Amara wasn't sure if she felt comforted or if she felt offended at being treated like an actual child. She was not a young adolescent, anymore. Maria continued, "We should be landing soon. I will be moving to a different ship, and heading for the Queen's palace. You should come with." Though the secretary's tone was casual, there was no mistaking the weight of a command.

Amara shifted uncomfortably, and struggled not to show her displeasure.

"I really should be heading back home, my father is going to be worried sick."

"I am certain he will not begrudge you taking comfort here before another long space journey home. The Mieru'kar system is on the opposite side of the galaxy, is it not?"

"It... It is," Amara acknowledged, surprised she knew.

"It is decided, then. You will rest and recuperate with me. The Queen will be most anxious to meet you, after the deeds you have done for us. You will find your extended stay very educational; Naboo has a wonderful schooling program, unlike the outer rim territories."

Amara swallowed thickly, shook her head, and stood up. She had attended school on Tar’kme. Though it hadn’t been anything very extensive, it had served her well, and she was proud of having been able to go. There were many less fortunate than she.

Maria’s tone wasn’t exactly condescending, but the phrasing was close enough to it that it rankled the young woman’s pride.

"Begging your pardon, but I'd rather not be fussed over. Things happened, but they're over, now. I'd... I'd rather just forget about it," she whispered.

Maria's eyes took on a softer tone, almost... pitying. Amara took an involuntary step back.

"I understand how you feel--"

"No, you don't." The words were blurted before Amara could stop them, but she didn’t care. How could this woman understand? Their positions had been so different. She did not begrudge Maria for her state of mind during the battle, for being panicked and injured, but Amara couldn't quite believe that this woman had the same understanding of the horror of not only experiencing it, but  _ engaging _ in it.

Amara could almost feel the warm heat of laser bolts singing the air beside her face, her limbs, her chest. Could almost hear the all-too-close explosions and cries of terrified people running in panic, at sharp contrast to the mechanical gears and pistons of droids and their machinery. All at once, she vividly recalled the scent of burning flesh, of machine grease and well-oiled metal. The shaking of her hands when she most needed them steady and level to shoot back.

Maria's lips had pressed into a thin line, a dark look in her eyes. After a moment, she looked away from the frightened young woman in her company, to the slate-eyed guard at the end of her bed.

"Jonathan. Please send for Master Obi Wan and his padawan, and escort Miss Amara back to her room. I have a request to make of Anakin and his master."

"Yes, Milady," he answered with a crisp nod of his head, then stepped towards Amara, offering an arm.

This time Amara took it, if only to prevent her suddenly weak knees from wobbling as they silently left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the longer chapter chunk, another update will be coming tonight or tomorrow. Happy holidays!  
> ~Asharion


	7. Reluctant Ally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heya! I am not deeeead! Sorry guys for the ubber late update - my life has gotten crazy busy with managing a new business and storefront. Been a wonderful experience, but it has meant I had to leave a lot of projects to the way-side.
> 
> I intend to pick this story back up, updates will be slow, but they WILL continue! I have a lot planned. Don't be shy on reviews or comments, I live off my reader's feedback.
> 
> Anyhow... Here ya go! Enjoy the read.

"I do not agree with this plan," Obi Wan said with deliberate patience. Anakin sat behind him in a chair at the table, while the older Jedi master had pulled his up to Maria's bedside. "She is not a guild member with loyalties to your faction, nor is she in any way trained for this. She's a merchant's sheltered daughter," he reminded.

"She has potential," Maria said archly, tipping her chin up. Even swathed in bandages and in a position of vulnerability, she still managed to demand an aura of respect and strength.

  
Very different from the whimpering bundle Anakin remembered carrying across the guild's courtyard-turned-battlefield. Somehow, the comparison only made him feel more bitter towards her, as though she were lying to them with this commanding presence and calm attitude in the face of disagreement. This woman was a borderline politician, he had decided; words were her weapon, debate her battlefield. She used them well.

  
"She's not going to agree with you," Obi Wan said, leaning back with his arms folded across his chest, breaths even and controled. Though he looked calm, Anakin could tell that his Master was frustrated and strained; a tell-tale jump in Obi Wan's jaw gave him away, as did the straighter posture, shoulders tense.

  
"She will," Maria said with confidence... or arrogance.

  
"Forgive me for interrupting," Anakin began with a barely hidden sigh of exasperation. "But I agree with Master Obi Wan--"

  
"Of course you do, he's your Master," Maria said simply. Anakin's eyes flashed, but his retort was cut off when Obi Wan held up his hand.

  
"Anakin is very much his own person, and we do not always see eye-to-eye," he revealed slowly, eyeing Maria sternly. "Which is all the more beneficial for the both of us in analyzing a situation. You may recall he was with her during the entire ordeal. You were unconscious."

  
"I remember enough," Maria said tartly. "And my mind is not changed. You forget, Jedi, that you are aboard a guild ship, and that I am of the Queen's staff. This will be my returned favor to Amara, for saving my life." She had yet to thank Anakin.

  
"It is not a favor if she does not want it; I will not force her into this," Obi Wan said with finality, standing. "And I will not allow you to enact this plan without her willing permission."

  
"Nor will I," Anakin added with a satisfied nod, glancing once to Obi Wan before turning his gaze to Maria. Though he wasn't _exactly_ glaring at the woman, his stern expression came close. He certainly wanted to.

  
"If you are so worried, then be her guard," Maria drawled, waving a hand dismissively at them. "I am tired. I will rest, now. Good day."

  
No sooner had the two Jedi exited the archivist's room than the pilot's voice announced over an intercom that they were in the process of landing.

  
"So much for rest," Anakin muttered under his breath once the door closed, and Obi Wan fixed him with a stern glance, then silently took off down the corridor.  
  


~*~

 

They received no answer then Obi Wan stopped to knock on Amara's door, and a tense silence passed between Master and Padawan before he knocked again, louder this time. Obi Wan knew she was inside. He could still feel the curious pull of the Force, beckoning, guiding, luring him closer.

  
But for what reason? He needed to find out.

  
"I'm coming in, Amara," Anakin announced, and slapped his hand flat against the control before Obi Wan could interrupt him. The door hissed open, and the young man stepped boldly inside. He immediately faltered mid-step, and went stiff as a board when he saw her.

  
Amara was laying curled up on the cot on her side, sound asleep with pillow clutched to her chest and bare legs peeking out from underneath a rumpled skirt. Her hair had been let loose from her bun, and spilled out in a messy pool of silken waves.

  
Obi Wan swept past him, and gently laid a hand on her shoulder.

  
"Amara. We have arrived," he announced softly, giving her a gentle shake.

  
She mumbled something and drew the pillow tighter to her chest, turning her face into it.

  
Amused, Obi Wan shook her shoulder again as Anakin cautiously crept up behind him, swallowing thickly.

  
It was harder than he thought to keep his eyes from straying away from her face, and he was jealous that his Master did not seem affected by the same difficulty. The contrast made him feel... unclean.

  
Clasping his hands tightly behind his back, Anakin turned his face away from them both and stared at the wall, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he focused on other thoughts, like how much he was looking forward to seeing his old friend Padme again, or replaying the sequence of events during the recent battle... or analyzing his frustration and anger over the indifference of Maria Tawani, and how they could prevent her playing a political game with Amara as a chess piece.  
"She's out as cold as the temperatures of Hoff," Obi Wan said, sounding both miffed and amused.

  
"Then we will carry her out," Anakin suggested with a shrug. "If we leave her here, that woman is going to run off with her."

  
"That is a concern," Obi Wan acknowledged, but frowned, cocking his head to the side as he reached over to untuck the blanket from the end of the bed, and draw it up over her small figure.  It was a decidedly father-like gesture, which amused Anakin, and brought to the fore fond memories of childhood when Obi Wan had been the closest thing to a father he'd ever had.

  
"Why do you think she is so keen on taking this girl into her confidence and tutelage?" Obi Wan questioned.

  
"She feels guilt," Anakin said, then paused to rethink his wording so Obi Wan would understand what he meant. "Amara, that is. She feels responsible for Maria's condition, even though she shouldn't. Maria will use that against her," he said with a snort.

  
"Yes, but _why?"_ Obi Wan pressed.

  
Anakin turned away from the wall, glanced at Amara, then fixed his gaze on the calm expression of his Master. For a brief moment, he felt envious of how easily Obi Wan was able to reign in his emotions, how easily he could remain aloof and detached, to think clearly and without bias.

  
"Because she can?" he guessed after a moment, shrugging. It felt like a trick question. He didn't know enough about the guild's inner politics to guess at a more specific motivation, but the answer seemed to please Obi Wan, for he nodded and looked back down at the girl, expression suddenly pensive.

  
"And that is what concerns me. It is my belief that she views Amara as an expendable asset; a low-class merchant's daughter from an outer rim territory not well known. No one would miss her presence there, and she is unlikely to have any higher relations in court or in the trading industry. That was, after all, her intention on this trip, to gain those connections."

  
"You think the archivist is planning something?" Anakin asked quietly, his tone sharp.

  
"I do not know, but whether she has specific intentions in mind with Amara or not, I dislike the idea of allowing Secretary Maria to manipulate her into a position of debt and service."

  
Anakin hesitated for a long moment before he voice a tentative question.

  
"Master, I understand why this is wrong, and I do not like it, either, but I would like to know; why are you so interested in her?"

  
Obi Wan fixed his Padawan with a surprised double-take, brows raising.

  
"Do I seem to be?" he questioned on impulse.

  
"You are normally very focused on completing our mission, and not diverging from its course," Anakin pointed out, a small bubble of pride welling up in his chest and bringing a grin to his face. So he _had_ guessed correctly.

  
"That is true," Obi Wan consented, nodding. "But we are in a position able to lend aid, and I do not see this conflicting with our primary orders."

  
"Master Yoda requested we return when the gala was over."

  
"Yes, and there are still another two days of scheduled parties on the agenda that we very clearly promised to attend," Obi Wan said with a glimmer in his eyes. Anakin matched it with a grin of his own, and shook his head.

  
"And you blame me when _I_ bend rules."

  
"You still have much to learn, my young apprentice. Now, then," he said, and looked down to Amara only to find her wide eyes staring up at the both of them with avid interest. Both men exchanged a glance, and Anakin decided the only emotion that suited his Master's face was _sheepish._ They had been careless.

  
"By all means, keep talking," Amara prompted.

  
"I apologize; did we wake you?" Obi Wan asked, clearing his throat. "You were sound asleep."

  
"I was," she agreed, then slowly sat up. "So you really were here in case trouble happened?" she prompted.

  
Obi Wan ducked his head in an unconscious show of his discomfort at his own folly, then stuffed calloused hands into deep sleeves. Amara's gaze flicked over to Anakin, lingered, then looked back to the Jedi master.  
"Not precisely, though it was most fortunate we were here when it happened."

  
"So you have another mission," Amara wheedled, eyes glittering as she struggled not to smile.

  
"What my Master is trying to say," Anakin interjected, stepping forward to clasp a hand firmly on Obi Wan's shoulder with a lopsided grin. "Is that we trust you not to repeat anything you might have heard, and we could use some help with figuring out the guild politics."

  
"You need my help?" Amara repeated, now frowning as she narrowed her eyes at him.

  
"Of course, you are not obligated to," Obi Wan answered, moving his hands to clasp behind his back. "But we would appreciate a Merchant's insight into the affairs going on. You have left quite the impression on Secretary Maria Tawani."  
Both Jedi noticed Amara blanch at the last sentence, and both Jedi frowned in concern.

  
"She wants me to stay with her," she said quietly. "I would rather just go home."

  
"You don't seem eager to," Anakin blurted without thinking. Something about the way her emotions twisted in her eyes spoke of great reluctance. Amara's sharp gaze darted up to him, and they locked gazes.

  
"It will have its consequences. So would staying."

  
"Master," Anakin began, breaking eye contact to look to the older Jedi. Obi Wan shook his head.

  
"I agree. We should inform her. But first, let us get off this ship and into more comfortable quarters. You need to be properly seen to," he said with a nod of his head to Amara. “I will make arrangements. Anakin, stay with her, I’ll send word on where to meet.”

  
“Yes, Master,” Anakin answered, though his voice held a slight drawl to it that Obi Wan narrowed his eyes at briefly.  
Amara looked like she wanted to say something, but in the end, she only puffed out her cheeks and sighed, keeping her thoughts to herself. It was going to be a long day.


End file.
